


UNEEDED

by LadyArkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Forced Pregnancy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kidnapping, M/M, Mpreg, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Violation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:12:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArkin/pseuds/LadyArkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarity had probably had a good laugh over it. It probably made some kind of sense in his deranged mind. He might even have thought that he was doing the right thing. </p><p>What he did do was put them in an impossible situation. </p><p>And when Sherlock jumped, John knew that he’d done it for them. He knew that it was so that they could survive. After all that’s why Moriarty did it. That’s why their son had been created.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THE BURDEN OF MOVING FORWARD

It was after Sherlock jumped that John had to be hospitalized. As Sherlock’s body went down into the morgue, John went up to the emergency. The sight of Sherlock’s bloody and broken body was too much. John’s blood pressure fell. He passed out and woke up much later laying in a hospital bed.  
His head had pounded like a drum. His eyes were sensitive to the light. He felt nauseous. Still, the moment a nurse entered his room, he said, “I want to be discharged.”  
She argued with him asking him to be reasonable saying, “You could stroke out!”  
When he didn’t immediately see reason, she went to be the charge nurse. The charge nurse took her turn. When she didn’t get him to see reason, a doctor was found to speak with him.  
In the end, John waited for Lestrade. He asked the Detective Inspector to take him home. John checked himself out against medical orders.  
Lestrade drove.  
Half way home John listlessly insisted, “I need food. There’s a chippy just down there.”  
Greg bought him dinner and then drove him the rest of the way home. He even put an arm around John and helped him up the stairs. Once inside the man helped John to his room. He even stayed for a while.  
John ate quietly. He didn’t eat much, but the little bit of hot food that he managed to eat eased him. If nothing else the nausea passed.  
John kicked off his shoes and pulled the blankets up.  
Hesitantly, Greg said, “I’m going to need a statement from you.”  
Greg’s shoulder’s fell. He nodded and got up.  
He stopped at the door of John’s room. He turned and said, “If you need anything, call me. I’m serious John. Anything.”  
John nodded silently but said nothing.  
He heard the front door close. But, he still waited a few minutes before he got out of bed.  
Carefully, John walked down the stairs and into the living room.  
The big box that had been tied to his existence for two weeks was still where they’d left it. He opened the lid. Neatly arranged in row after row were the little vials of red liquid. He continued to take them only because Sherlock’s analysis confirmed that they were neither harmful nor addictive. Before he’d taken them unsure and full of fear. Now all he could think of was that they now insured that Sherlock was not entirely dead. And now John was now entirely responsible for what was left.  
And so, he pulled out a vial and drank down the bitter liquid.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John’s first priority was to keep up appearances.  
At first that just meant making it to work. It was difficult. The last think that he wanted was to think. He didn’t want to deal with other people’s petty problems and most importantly, he didn’t want to care about anyone.  
Somehow, he managed to keep it together. He wasn’t sure how.  
And while he was keeping up appearances he also started to work on his eating habits.  
Despite the lethargy, the absolute emptiness in his chest, he managed to improve his diet. He set the alarm on his phone to remind him to eat. If he didn’t the nausea would remind him. He cut out all excess salt. He bought no processed foods.  
He bought mostly organic foods and cooked once a week. John quickly began portioning food into plastic containers that he froze. It was easier to re-heat during the week than think or do. The rest of the time he had porridge with small amounts of dried fruit and nuts.  
He changed other things to keep his health up. He began taking vitamins, a good folic acid, and calcium. He switched to a non-dairy milk because his research indicated that regular milk wasn’t the terrific source of calcium that he’d always envisioned. He even switched to decaffeinated tea, but it didn’t have much flavor. That’s when he stared looking at different herbal blends, experimenting until he found something he could live with.  
His friendships weren’t easy to maintain.  
Mrs. Hudson he lived above, but he was so despondent that he found it difficult to speak with her for any length of time. He didn’t know what to say. Most of the time, he didn’t say anything at all.  
Molly came to see him once. She looked depressed. Their visit was awkward and a bit uncomfortable. He asked her to take a box full of equipment that had been Sherlock’s. He couldn’t part with Sherlock’s microscope or his books. But, he had no use for the general laboratory equipment.  
“He’d want you to have it all.” John slid his hands into his pockets. “He drove the people he loved nuts. I don’t think he knew any other way.”  
She cried.  
She made him cry.  
In the end, he was glad that she left quickly.  
Greg texted him for three weeks about meeting him at a pub. John gave him every excuse that he could think of. In the end, Greg came to his door with a bag of take away.  
Greg stood at the threshold. He shrugged. “Didn’t know what you’d like, so I just picked.”  
John stared.  
Finally, Greg asked, “Are you going to let me in?”  
“Oh,” John said snapping back to reality.  
He opened the door and stepped back letting the man in.  
“Wow,” Greg said entering. “You’ve been busy.”  
“Just cleaned a little.”  
“Or a lot. This place smells and looks clean. Before I was afraid of catching something.”  
John didn’t answer.  
Greg placed the bag of take away on the table. “You alright?”  
“Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting company.”  
“That happens when you avoid people.”  
John hung his head. His shoulder’s slumped.  
Quietly, John said, “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be,” Greg said quietly. “I get it. But, I’m not about to let our friendship fall by the way side. And there’s nothing more friendly than fish and chips.” Greg pulled out two paper bundles. “Let’s have a few beers and talk.”  
“Sorry mate, I don’t have any beer.” John hesitantly added, “I’m not drinking anymore.”  
Greg looked at John and seriously added, “Is that why you haven’t wanted to see me?”  
John looked away.  
“We don’t have to drink, John.”  
John thought carefully. When he was ready, he said, “I appreciate this gesture, but I’m not going to eat fried food. I’m watching my fat intake. But I’ll join you. Give me a minute.”  
John’s dinner was already in the toaster oven. He put the Pyrex dish out to check on his food. He was glad that he’d done away with the plastic containers in favor of the non-leaching, chemical free glass. He dished up the couscous and vegetables which were hot all the way through. The chicken needed more time. He flipped it and put the Pyrex back in for another minute or so.  
While he waited, John set the kettle on and prepared two cups of herbal tea. He would have made a regular cuppa for the Detective Inspector but he no longer had any caffeinated tea in the house.  
He reminded himself of that when he brought two hot mugs to the table.  
Greg instantly took a sip and went wide eyed.  
“It’s an herbal blend with black currents. It’s good. I can live with it.”  
Greg smiled. “It’s not bad. I guess I just wasn’t ready for it.”  
A ding from the kitchen prompted John to get up.  
He pulled his dinner out of the little oven and sat it on a plate.  
He carried it to the dining table and sat down to eat.  
“Is this a diet?” Greg asked confused.  
John looked down at his meal of baked chicken, vegetables, and couscous. “Just cutting out the junk.”  
Feeling the need to explain further, he said, “After he died, I started to feel sick when I ate badly. Doesn’t feel so good when you already feel sick inside.”  
They ate together and carefully avoided mention of Sherlock again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John had the same nightmare…again.  
He rolled out of bed sweaty and upset. He knew that he should at least try to get more sleep but past experience told him it wouldn’t happen.  
John got up. He stripped the bed and walked to the washer and dryer in the hall closet. He threw the sheets in. then, he stripped his clothes right into the washer. He poured soap in, set the machine, and walked away.  
He went straight to the bathroom and a warm shower.  
Once he was dressed, John sat at his desk with a hot cuppa as the sun rose.  
It was always the same dream. He stayed late after the funeral unable to pull himself away. A feeling as black as that headstone filled his belly. Still, he stared at Sherlock’s stone.  
When he looked down, he realized that he’d been holding his belly all along. The realization that Sherlock wouldn’t be there drops John on the ground. He wants to breath in but finds it too difficult.  
Sherlock’s watching him. He never sees the man but John knows he’s there. John wants to scream for him. Beg. Instead he looses consciousness and wakes bathed in sweat.  
He wanted it to be real, wished for it with all his heart.  
But the only reality that he had was the nausea that forced to get up and go in search of saltines.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John played phone tag with Mycroft’s assistant for three weeks. He tried to related to her that it was important. All he got from her were excuses of one sort or another.  
When John couldn’t take it any more, he decided to take matters into his own hands. First, he went down to Mycroft’s public office. Sherlock had called it middle management chic.  
John didn’t know who the secretary was, but she was insistent that, “Mr. Holmes is not in.”  
John went in anyway, but the office was empty.  
The woman protested insisted that he leave.  
He did.  
His next cab ride took him to the private office that Mycroft maintained. He’d heard about it from both Greg and Sherlock, but had never been there before. From Sherlock’s casual comment, “Little wonder he isn’t rolling himself along his office is so close to Gilliard’s”  
So John started at Gilliard’s Bakery in the financial district. Greg had mentioned a faceless building with an underground garage. “Doesn’t even have a sign outside, mate. Trust me it just disappears if you’re not looking for it.”  
So John began walking in an ever expanding pattern with Gillard’s at his epicenter. He was able to keep it up for about twenty minutes. By then his feet were so swollen that he had to swallow his pride and hail a cab.  
Five minutes later, John said, “Stop.” He was looking at a three story beige building that fit the description.  
He paid the cabbie and wandered towards the building.  
John quickly found that there was no entrance. The only vestige of an entry that he found was a silver box that stood next to the garage entrance. The garage itself was sealed tight with a metal rolling door.  
The box had no buttons, nothing to get anyone’s attention. John looked into the small camera lens and said, “John Watson. I’m here to see Mycroft Holmes regarding his brother. It’s important.”  
Nothing happened, except that John’s feet were throbbing and his back hurt.  
He wiped his face with his hand and said, “This isn’t cute. I feel sick and I need to speak with Mycroft. His brother left him something. It’s for Mycroft alone. I can’t give a message to some lackey or to a camera!”  
John felt his tears, but did his best to fight them back.  
Finally the garage door opened.  
“No,” John said quickly. “My feet hurt and I feel sick. Send a car.”  
John actually had to stop himself from smirking. He’d sounded so much like Sherlock that a jolt of absolute joy had burst through him.  
A minute or so later, a golf cart arrived. A big, muscled man in a suit, and ear piece greeted him.  
“Cheers,” John said as he sat. “Not too fast. Easy over the bumps, mate. I’m nauseous as all hell.”  
John was driven in the little cart, very slowly. They went up before they went down. John was sure that they were at least two stories below street level when they pulled over next to a door.  
He thanked the man who told him to go inside and go straight down the hall waiting for him.  
John obeyed. He went slowly because his legs and feet hurt. But, he went.  
Finally, at the end of what seemed like a mile long corridor, he found Mycroft waiting for him.  
“John, how nice to see you.”  
John had to bite his tongue.  
He stuffed down his knee jerk reaction and instead said, “We need to talk privately.”  
Mycroft led him into a severe looking office.  
John sat an immediately took his shoes off. He sighed in relief. For a moment, just for a moment, he closed his eyes and felt the throbbing of his feet. They felt inhumanely large.  
When John finally opened his eyes it was see Mycroft’s face. It was evident that he was annoyed. His eyebrow, the eyebrow of absolute power, was up so high that it was practically touching his hair line.  
John couldn’t help it, he said, “Obviously, you didn’t hear that I feel sick. My feet and swollen, my legs hurt, and I really don’t know how I made it down that hallway.”  
“And I thought you were a soldier.”  
The comment felt like bait. John made the decision to leave it alone.  
Instead, John said, “We need privacy.”  
“We are in private,” Mycroft responded.  
“What I have to say is only for you. Not for you and the little people beyond the monitoring equipment.”  
Mycroft didn’t bat an eye. “Doctor, this is as much as-  
“Please have a car take me home. I’d hoped that you could trust me for five minutes, but…maybe someday.”  
John suddenly felt very emotional.  
“He knew, Mycroft.” John nodded. “He had to jump Moriarty said or did something to him. It’s the kind of sick crap that his perverse mind enjoyed. He probably thought it was romantic. The two of them dying together.”  
John looked away. He was exhausted. “Please deliver me home?”  
Mycroft sighed. His jaw tightened.  
Mycroft opened a drawer and placed his hand inside. “Five minutes, beta 5526.” Mycroft closed the drawer. “You have five minutes of total privacy. I suggest you hurry.”  
John blinked. “I’m pregnant with Sherlock’s baby.” John swallowed hard. “Moriarty wanted…” John shook his head. “I don’t know.” John sniffed. “He wanted Sherlock to notice him. A type of love affair, I suppose, when he didn’t get whatever it was that he wanted…there were doctor’s. They forced an ejaculation from Sherlock. I don’t know where the egg came from. That’s why he kept me longer. Eighteen days later there was a heartbeat. He made me listen to it for hours.”  
John sighed. “As long as I take the medication everyday the pregnancy remains viable. It contains the appropriate chemical and hormonal balance to keep my body from rejecting it.”  
He thought about his twenty five days of captivity directly after the pool incident.  
Tears came to John’s eyes. “He insisted that I name the baby. He wouldn’t let me go until I did. Then…he just let me go.”  
John looked up meeting Mycroft’s unsure eyes. “Anything that Sherlock did, he did for us. To protect us. Moriarty used us to manipulate him.”  
Mycroft looked a bit stunned when he asked, “Does anyone know?”  
“Moriarity killed the medical team that performed the procedure. Moriarty is dead. Sherlock…”  
“Good.”  
John met his eyes and insisted. “I need a good obstetrician, scans, and eventually, a surgical team.”  
Mycroft leaned forwards and said, “Your job is to remain calm. I’ll make all arrangements. My assistant will be in contact.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John established a disguise that would work. It was five and a half months after Moriarty had released him.  
John got up one morning. He picked up a pair of trousers that he liked and found that they didn’t fit. They weren’t just snug either. They simply didn’t fit; he couldn’t even zip them up. John had to go through quite a few pairs of trousers before he gave up and put on his most baggy pair of jeans. His fluffiest jumper went over the top.  
On his way to work John stopped off at a convenience store and bought three different candy bars. He left one on his desk for all to see. He put the other two in his drawer so he could alternate them daily.  
After work that day, John went shopping. He bought a few pairs of much bigger trousers at a store that catered to larger men. His new trousers were designed with hidden elastic waist bands, and all of them were black. He wore them with suspenders because he now had no waist to speak of but it was still larger than his hips. He also bought several larger jumpers, all dark and somber.  
John slowly began cutting back on hours at the clinic. When his boss questioned him about it he said the first thing that came to mind, “My sister isn’t doing well. She’s pregnant and has a drinking problem. I have to be there for her.”  
His body hurt. His back suffered the most. Some days all that he could do was forgo the tube and take a cab. Once home, he struggled up the stairs and put his feet up with strategically placed ice packs on his feet and ankles.  
A week later John took one of his days off and actually went to see Harry. He was tired and swollen when he finally got there. He knocked. Then, he continued to knock for three minutes.  
Nothing.  
He shook his head. He’d seen her car in the parking lot on his way in. So he knew that she was home.  
Just to give her the benefit of the doubt, John pulled his phone out. He called her. He could hear the phone on the other side of the door ring shrilly.  
Still nothing.  
John put the phone away.  
He pulled out the emergency key that she gave him once upon a time. It was the only key on his key ring that wasn’t his. He started carrying it after he’d gotten his first serious drunk dial from Harry.  
At the time she’d thought that he was Clara. She’d called angry screaming, “I’m gonna fucking put all your shite in your car and set it on fire, you bitch!”  
He had rushed over and sat with her for hours. He gave her any non-alcoholic liquid that she would take until she was somewhat sober and much more calm.  
Today, when he used the key to open the door, he steeled himself. He already knew what he was going to find and he wasn’t disappointed.  
John opened Harry’s front door. The smell was the first thing to hit him. The smell of skunky ale and rot hit him in the face. It smelled like a pub’s dirty rug. He walked in and found garbage bags piled up. A few were leaking onto the flat’s wooden floors.  
One of the walls had splatters of crusted and dried food, as if there had been a food fight. It did not look recent. What food had fallen in a pile on the ground was moldy and smelled rotted. He couldn’t identify what it had once been.  
John found Harry in the living room. She was laying on her side in a puddle of vomit. John felt queasy enough that he had to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve.  
He didn’t dare get close to her or his own vomit would join hers. So he picked up a pillow and threw it at her. It was enough to make her groan. And thus, he had confirmation of life.  
John walked out.  
Once out in the fresh air, he breathed in and out a few times. When he was sure that he was alright, he sat on the stairs.  
It didn’t take much consideration of the situation before he pulled out his mobile again.  
“Anthea. I need your help. I know I’m asking a lot here, but I can’t handle this on my own. It’s my sister…  
In less than thirty minutes three unmarked vans arrived. The men and women that arrived went inside. Garbage quickly started to flow out. The sounds of several cleaning machines filled the air.  
He watched an ambulance arrive. Two paramedics arrived at Harry’s door with a stretcher.  
Ten minutes later, they emerged with Harry strapped down. He visually checked the IV bag attached to her arm.  
“How is she?” he asked numbly.  
“Drunk. Dehydrated and a bit showing classic anemic symptoms. Mr. Holmes gave us orders to deliver her to a rehabilitation hospital.”  
John snorted. “Fat chance of her staying, mate.”  
“As next of kin, you can refuse?”  
“No,” he exhaled helplessly. “At least she can sober up for a day or two. I appreciate your services.”  
“Do you need a moment to say goodbye?”  
“No. We’ve done this before. It’s old hat.”  
John didn’t want to go near the flat because of the cleaning chemicals that they were using. Harry was in safe hands. He didn’t care if her flat was locked up after the chemicals were done. So, he left.  
He was half way to the tube station, when a black sedan pulled up to the curb along side of him. John walked to it. The door opened before he even arrived.  
Mycroft was inside.  
At first, neither of them spoke. The rode in silence for several blocks.  
Mycroft was the first to speak. “I trust that you are well?”  
“Fine,” John murmured mournfully.  
“Excellent. I have good news which you may find distressing. I’d like to mitigate that distress as much as possible.”  
“Just spit it out,” John said exhausted.  
“Your sister has a problem. She will find a way to kill herself, John.”  
“Not a news flash,” John said with a smirk of black humor.  
“The rehabilitation hospital where she is going-  
“She’ll never stay. She never does.”  
Mycroft fell quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “There is no walking out of this hospital.”  
John turned to look at Mycroft.  
“Mycroft,” John said in a low warning tone.  
“ _If_ you wish her released, of course, it will be done. _However_ , I urge you to consider for a moment the opportunity. Your sister requires help.”  
“Rehab only works if the individual wants to do the work.”  
“You’ve already told your co-workers that she’s pregnant. Wouldn’t it make sense that she stay somewhere safe during that time and then a family member take the child?”  
John starred at the man. A part of him thought, how brilliant. The other part of him was horrified. “I’d have to incarcerate my sister for five months.”  
“In a very plush rehabilitation hospital where she would get every opportunity to get better.”  
“And then she’ll resent me forever.”  
“The facility is currently under strict orders not to reveal the identity of who committed her or who’s paying the bills. I hope you don’t mind my saying so John, but it will be rather obvious to her that no one she knows can afford this particular facility. When she wakes, she will be in the South of France being pampered.  
John didn’t respond.  
“You will play the worried sibling. No one will question when you wind up with the child. I shall have the appropriate paperwork drawn up and you will legally wind up with the child. And then, she will be chauffeured home to resume her life.”  
John opened his mouth.  
Mycroft quickly said, “Her flat and work will be waiting. Her bills will be paid. My word.”  
John leaned into Mycroft’s personal space and suspiciously asked, “Why would you give a damn about my lush sister?”  
Mycroft’s eyes momentarily looked down at John’s slowly expanding middle. He sat back and looked ahead at nothing. “Five months, and one week ago a sum of $10,000 pounds sterling was deposited into her bank account from a Russian company that is a known money laundering front.”  
“You think that she’s the egg donor for my baby?” John shook his head. “A bad wild guess!”  
“I know world leaders that act on my wild guesses. Can you think of a reason why anyone in Russia would willingly give your sister such an amount?”  
John turned his head away.  
“As my nephew or nieces biological donor, I will allow enough concern to spend a few bob. She gets help. You get peace of mind while the child grows and the added benefit of a very believable story.”  
Still, John said nothing.  
Mycroft said simply. “If you have a better idea?”  
John couldn’t argue.  
Instead, he started to softly cry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John set up his cover story step-by-step, exactly as he was told. The reality was quite different than what he was giving everyone else.  
At first, Harry had been belligerent regarding her situation. During those times he didn’t answer most of her questions. He’d tried to be supportive and encouraging, but that was all.  
Then, things started to change from one conversation to the next.  
She’d had a tan the last time they’d Skyped. She looked more healthy than she’d been in a while. Instead of the usual argument she’d fallen quiet and asked, “Why am I a drunk, John? We’re twins for fuck’s sake. Why am I the weak one?”  
He was a bit shocked, but he didn’t hesitate to answer, “You’re not weak! It’s just that you take everything personally. You want to fight everything and everyone. It has to be…exhausting.”  
Harry started to cry.  
He instantly felt like shite.  
And then, in an instant she smiled, “Fuck! That’s what my therapist said too! What if I can’t stop, Johnny?”  
“No one can help you with that, Harry. Just you.”  
She sighed. She looked away. “I called Clara and started apologizing. She doesn’t believe that I mean any of it.”  
“Prove by doing.”  
She smiled again.  
“Your therapist again?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Then I like him. He’s obviously very wise.”  
She looked at him oddly.  
“What? Do I have a boggie?” He asked wiping at his nose.  
“Are you in love?” she asked.  
“No. Why?”  
“You’re glowing. Like when Sherlock was still alive.”  
John face fell. “I’m glad I look well. I haven’t met anyone, and I’d rather not talk about him.”  
“John-  
“It’s fine. So how’s the food?”  
With each talk they had, he became increasingly encouraged. He refused to hope. Hope was a killer. But in the very least, he knew that he’d made the right choice in sending her to rehab.  
Meanwhile, in John’s life…  
He’d left working at the clinic to be closer to his sister. John was officially working at a rehab near his home. It was actually a dummy clinic, but it allowed his commute to be a short walk in a heavy coat that hid his condition.  
Once inside, he greeted everyone as if he actually worked there. He hung up his coat. John even wandered into the kitchen and served himself a nice cuppa. Herbal tea of course.  
When he was finished, he took an elevator down to his real place of work. As far as he could tell it was an underground hospital for spies. He pulled bullets out and stitched up stab wounds. Once, he even treated a poisoning. There were also a handful of car accidents.  
John learnt real quick not to ask a lot of questions. Not when they walked in wearing different costumes or if they had odd injuries.  
This particular point was driven home to him on one particular day. John walked into his emergency to find that two armed men dressed as paramedics had brought in a man who’s feet had been set in concrete. The patient was shacked and gagged.  
His orders that day were, “Don’t release him. Don’t ungag him. All we need is a key that he swallowed. You have twenty minutes. Get it!”  
Still, it wasn’t a bad job. He was fully stocked. He had access to all manner of high tech equipment. And, best of all he had very few clients.  
Another perk was that his OB-GYN came to him. He was treated right there in his space. It allowed him to keep control over every thing that happened. He held his medical chart, and he was the one who updated it day-to-day.  
He ate well, exercised gently, and monitored himself. The baby was small, but healthy. Despite the fact that he really hadn’t wanted to know, John clearly saw during an ultrasound that it was going to be Hamish and not Emily.


	2. THE HERRING COMETH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pregnancy. Holding onto a Holmes to term is not a easy task.

John lay on his back because he had no choice. His belly was already large enough to interfere with simple everyday tasks.  
The baby moved occasionally. It wasn’t often. It often scared him. More than once he’d thought that the baby might be dead. Usually, he could find the baby’s heart beat with a stethoscope. It depended on his position.  
It took some time, but finally, John understood that his ‘womb’ was now the baby’s couch. He was busy thinking. Much like his father, no one could force him to do anything that he wasn’t prepared for. And apparently, useless movements was one of those things.  
“He kissed me, you know.” John absently stroked his belly. “It was the night before he died. In retrospect, I think that he was saying goodbye. I should have savored it.”  
John sobbed. “He reached out, and all I could think was, should I be enjoying this?”  
John wiped his eyes and said, “I hope you have much more patience than he did. Because I’m a very stupid man. If I’d had a brain in my skull, I would have fucked your da then and there.”  
A hiccup burned its way up his throat. John groaned. “Oh, I shouldn’t have had that can of smoked herring after the bowl of ice cream.”  
John sat up. “Here comes the hilarious heart burn and gas.”  
John slid his feet into his slippers.  
He stood and started shuffling into the living room.  
“Come on, Herring. Let’s see if there’s anything on the telly. I’m not getting any sleep any time soon.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John woke up with a back ache. He was laying face up and thought it was dull and painful; and about the usual for someone in his condition. Eight months pregnant with a pelvis as small as his did not make a great combination. John was always swollen and hurting. It was an uncomfortable way to maneuver around. This point was made exceedingly clear when John managed to stand up.  
He rolled over just enough to grab hold of the rope that he’d tied to the clothes bar in the closet. He kept the other end tied to the head board. John used it to pull himself up. First, to a sitting position. Once his body and mind could deal with the enormity of movement, he pulled himself up to a standing position.  
He felt beyond fat. It was amazing what thirty pounds could do. John hadn’t seen his penis in months. He couldn’t really pee standing up anymore. It was simply easier to pee sitting down. This was especially true if the toilet had safety bars. His bathroom had them after a brief complaint to Mycroft.  
John made breakfast. Toast and cheese, but his eyes turned out to be bigger than his appetite. He took two bits and then stared at it. The tea was the only thing that he could stomach.  
He knew that he should eat more, but he physically couldn’t handle it that morning.  
John pulled a frozen meal out the freezer and a cup of frozen soup. John had stopped cooking when Mycroft had sent a service over with organic, specially prepared meals designed for his specific dietary requirements. John appreciated it because it was one less thing that he had to think about. And standing over a hot stove made his legs swell.  
The pain didn’t go away. A hot shower didn’t help. No standing, sitting, or leaning position helped.  
That day John made it as far as the bottom step. He didn’t even get to the front door, when pain ran up his spine. He went stock still. For a moment, John thought that he might have moved wrong and had hurt his back.  
Slowly, he checked his body. He could move his appendages. There were no damaged muscles. It was just a constant nagging pain that felt much worse.  
John pulled out his mobile and dialed.  
“Library,” a pleasant female voice announced.  
“I need to reserve a book. The reference number is 44628. The title is, ‘A Story of a Smoked Herring.’”  
“I’ve placed your request, sir. Thank you.”  
The line went dead.  
John felt sweat break out on his face. A second later, it spread through out his body.  
He swallowed hard and started the process of leaving, slowly. Just like every day. It was hard to keep it off his face. But he walked down the street pretending that everything was fine. The two block walk seemed to go on forever.  
When he arrived at the rehab John did his best to sound normal but doubted that he was successful. He went to the elevator.  
It wasn’t until the elevator doors closed that John allowed himself a moment of fear and panic.  
The doors opened. He found his surgical team already present. If nothing else, the nurses undressed him. They prepped him. All he had to do was move in the direction that he was ordered.  
John was wheeled into surgery.  
The surgeons and he had agreed from the start that he needed to be awake for the procedure. A part of him wanted to be completely unconscious, but there were to many variables at play. There was far too great a chance that something could go wrong. John had to be able to communicate with the attending staff. It was vital.  
John watched everything from the overhead mirrors set into place for him. John quickly saw that his team was as good as their reputation. His abdomen was cracked open with minimal fuss. The little curled up bundle was pulled out. Pale and small, he began to fuss and wail unhappily the moment that he was disturbed.  
The baby was taken out of his sight. And for the first time, John began to truly panic.  
John watched as he was stitched up as he listed to the wailing. He waited for the nurses to do something about the crying. Soon, the surgeons were done and the baby was still wailing.  
John was wheeled into his recovery room and transferred to what would be his bed for the next few days.  
The still crying baby was brought in by and apologetic nurse.  
John simply held his arms out.  
The moment he had the little thing in his arms he turned to the nurse and said, “Can you reach my mobile, please?”  
With his mobile in hand, John found his saved videos. There was one in particular that he had in mind. John pressed play.  
Sherlock was stroking his bow silkily across the strings of his violin. His attention was completely on tuning it just so. He continued to adjust and play notes until he had the exact sound that he wanted.  
“You know I don’t like being recorded,” Sherlock said sternly without looking up.  
“This is the only time when you’re peaceful and entertaining,” John replied.  
“My job isn’t to be either of those things,” Sherlock grumbled.  
Still, Sherlock closed his eyes and earnestly began playing the long, smooth cords of Vivaldi. Ham that he was.  
The baby still looked upset but he calmed enough to listen.  
John took the opportunity to look at the baby and check him carefully.  
He was exactly what he imagined a Watson baby might look like, except for the obvious influences that his father granted him. All Watson’s, as far as he knew, had the blonde hair that presented at birth. The eyes were big and blue. But his little Hamish wasn’t a fat bundle like Harry and he had been. Hamish looked thinner, his limbs longer. And that absolute look of annoyance….  
Slowly, the baby began to sleep as the video played.  
“Are you still recording?” Sherlock asked as if it were a complete surprise. He sniffed in annoyance as he looked away, much like a cat that was still highly aware of all without being obvious. “Why don’t you do something useful and bring me tea?”  
As usual, the video ended.  
And John felt a little bit sad.  
“I hear,” Mycroft said from the doorway, “That congratulations are in order.”  
John smiled. “He wouldn’t stop crying. I thought it might calm him.”  
Mycroft walked in with a bag in hand.  
“Is that a gift?” John asked.  
“Of a sort. These are prosthetics. Portly men can loose weight faster than women, but not overnight. You must pad a bit for a time. There are three sizes.”  
John nodded. “Tell everyone that I’m on a diet. Exercise. And slowly loose the belly.”  
“Taking care of a new born is a lot of work. No one will be surprised,” Mycroft said leaning in to see little Hamish.  
“Hold you nephew,” John instructed. “His name is Herring Holmes.”  
And for the first time ever, John saw Mycroft falter in uncertainty. His eyes were wide, the man gasped like a fish.  
“Just be sure to support his head and bum.”  
“Yes,” Mycroft said unsure. “I remember that. However, Mummy did not allow to pick up Sherlock until he was seven and a half months. She was convinced that he was far too fragile for a boy of my size. And if you dare name him that I shall sue for custody on the grounds of abuse.”  
“I trust you.” John offered the baby saying, “Head and bum. Easy.”  
Hesitantly, Mycroft reached down for the little swaddled package. In his large hands, he found it easy to cradle the child. Mycroft even smiled down at it.  
The baby opened his eyes. His face twisted in a familiar way.  
“John? Any question that I might have had regarding his parent has been thoroughly answered.”  
John answered by saying, “My mom used to say that colic runs in Watson infants.”  
Mycroft looked at John and said, “Arson runs in Holmes infants. So does escapism. Mummy would put a wooden board over Sherlock’s crib and set weights on it to keep him in place. It was a terrible battle of wills. Allegiances would shift. One never knew who was wining.”  
John laughed. When Mycroft didn’t laugh or say, ‘kidding’ the smile fell off John’s face. “Damn you,” John muttered.  
“Early warning,” Mycroft added. “Sherlock was picking locks by the time he was three, correcting grammatical errors by the time he was two.” Mycroft sighed dramatically. “Dear me, he hated wearing clothing.”  
“And also any day after a case,” John said fondly. “Especially to bed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He’d moved into Sherlock’s bedroom immediately after his death. He’d felt closer to Sherlock there. Sometimes he could even pretend. Listening to videos of him playing were excellent help. He just hadn’t come to bed…yet.  
John stiffly walked into his bedroom with the baby in his arms. He found fully assembled baby furniture already in it’s place.  
“Look at this, Hamish. It looks like you creepy uncle was spying on my internet browsing…again.” John looked into the peaceful little face of the sleeping babe. “I bookmarked all this stuff for you.”  
John walked to the side crib placed at Sherlock’s side of the bed. He took a moment to check and make sure that it was secured to the bed. After, he set Hamish down.  
John took advantage of the quiet moment and took his clothes off. The prosthetic belly made him sweaty. He threw it on the clothes pile and then slipped into bed. He moved over so that his body boxed the baby into the attached crib.  
John put a hand on the baby and fell instantly asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

John wasn’t sure when but sometime later, he woke. His hair was being petted gently.  
He rolled over slowly to find Mrs. Hudson sitting on the bed next to him.  
She smiled down at him. “I know you’re tired. But, I had to wake you, dear. You left before I could catch you three days ago. I’m off to visit my sister. The cab’s waiting.”  
“Really? Good. I wish you a happy visit.”  
John hated lying to her. The last months had been hard.  
“The baby’s fed. I changed his nappy. It’s a wonder you didn’t wake up through the wail.”  
“I,” John had to think. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”  
“I had trouble with my son. I doubt any thing’s changed much. Rest. Rest. And then rest some more.”  
John felt caught.  
She smiled. “Really John, I’m not stupid. I had a feeling when you didn’t come home so I called Mycroft. He told me that you were find and gave me some money. There are nappies in the closet and organic formula in the kitchen.”  
At first, John didn’t know what to say. Then, he just said, “Hamish Sherlock Holmes.”  
She smiled brightly.  
She kissed his hair.  
She even tucked him in before leaving.  
John wanted to sleep but couldn’t. Instead, he lay in the too big bed and stared at Sherlock’s child.  
“Technically, you’re my nephew. _If_ things were different I’d hand you over to her. I’d tell her the truth and let you live a normal life. But you’re his. You won’t be ordinary. And there’s no guarantee she’ll stay sober.”  
John touched the fluffy blonde hair asking, “What do I do, Herring? What do I do? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to cock it up.”


	3. A VERY HOLMESIAN CHILD

John took three months of maternity leave to be with little Hamish. Thankfully, his job with whichever government agency he worked for, paid well and was generous with his paid leave. John had put aside a bit of savings for whatever the baby needed.  
John concentrated on bonding with his little Herring. He tried to talk to Hamish as much as possible. They went for walks in a pram that Mycroft wheeled in during one of his visits.  
John exercised with Herring once a day. He found videos on Youtube for ‘fun and exercise with your baby.’ His body didn’t feel like his and he desperately wanted to make it right. He felt out of sorts but better with every exercise session. Herring mostly just laid there watching him quite disinterested.  
John was sure to play digital recordings of Sherlock’s voice. Mycroft provided him with several hours worth of recordings. He felt that it was important that Herring know his father. That was why John played videos of Sherlock playing. There were about 30 hours worth of recordings.  
They made it a habit. Everyday, Herring and he would lay down for a nap. It was then that John would play from where ever they had left off in the recording. Sherlock’s baritone voice filled the bedroom that had once been his.   
John watched Sherlock’s son slowly drifting off to sleep. If it was possible, equal amount of hope and despair filled him. He touched the little pink toes and grew sad. They were so much like his father’s that tears came to John’s eyes each and every time.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
When John went back to work it was with Hamish in a pram. He walked into the rehab clinic front and greeted everyone of his fake co-workers. He left the bulky pram in his upstairs pretend office and then took the elevator down to the level where he actually worked.   
A crib was waiting for them next to John’s desk. He set Hamish down and went about settling in again for the first time.  
It turned out that Hamish hated work. He hated the office. John had to play constant audios of Sherlock and of Sherlock and he just to make it through the day. He seemed to need constant stimulation, entertainment, and distraction just to make it through the day.  
“You are exhausting,” John informed Herring. “I had two clients for Pete’s sakes. I shouldn’t be this tired.”  
John picked him up. And, magically, his little Herring was asleep.  
“I see,” John said with a familiarity tickling his spine. “You simply want to be the center of _my_ attention.”  
“Very familiar indeed,” a familiar voice insisted.  
John looked up to find Mycroft in the doorway.  
“If memory serves,” Mycroft said wandering in and offering John a toy. “Father bought something similar to this for Sherlock. Perhaps it will help.”  
The toy was an activity center.  
“Isn’t that a little advanced for him?”  
“Nonsense. I had one of my staff hack it. Specifically for him. It will keep him busy.”  
John smiled. “Thank you, Mycroft. You’ve been very generous.”  
“I have been very self-serving. I assure you.” Mycroft placed the toy in the crib and secured it as he said, “I’m simply interested in making sure that my nephew is properly entertained. I believe that I do not have to remind you of how Sherlock reacted to boredom.”  
When Mycroft was finished, John dutifully placed Hamish in the crib. Mycroft pressed a button. The toy began to play music. John recognized Sherlock playing. It was Sherlock’s voice that said, “The game is on!” the A,B,C’s began to play followed by 1-10. With each song or statement a knob would turn or a window would pop open.   
“Quite entertaining,” Mycroft stated self-satisfied.  
“What is it?”  
“The Fibonacci sequence.”  
“Of course, it was obvious.”  
“Sarcasm?”  
“Yes. But it seems to be working. Maybe I can get some work down now.”  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
John was getting Hamish ready for his bath. When he took Hamish’s diaper off, he found it clean. John didn’t hesitate to fold it and put it right back on the diaper stack.  
“No!”  
John looked down at Hamish.  
His little Herring pointed at the diapers and again snapped out, “No!”  
“Did you just talk?”  
“No!”  
“You’re only five months.”  
“No!”   
“Alright, five and a half months. Still…  
“No!”  
“Fine,” John said talking the used diaper out of the stack and dropping it into the bin.  
Hamish promptly suckled his thumb and watched John.  
“I think I liked it better when you weren’t talking.”  
A few days later, John was doing his best to read to the boy. He did his best to be ‘interesting’ and ‘engaging’ like the books suggested. It was a currently popular book about a messy pig in a room share with a very tidy cat. John did voices. He made funny faces. He acted out a variable saga that deserved a BAFTA award for Christ’s sake!  
Nothing.  
The kid looked bored to death and possibly a bit depressed.  
John exhaled. “You’d shoot at the wall if you could maneuver the grip, wouldn’t you?”  
Hamish looked up at him with that look that Sherlock often had.   
“Sorry. I’m trying. All the exerts advise,” John shut his eyes. “Yeah. All of it aimed at baby morons of the general kind. Pedestrian babies, as you father would say.”  
John tossed the baby book aside. “Let’s think outside the box.”  
John got up and walked to the living room with Hamish cradled against him. He sat on the couch and pulled the newspaper close.  
“I know that I saw it. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to read it to you when I saw it earlier.” Then, John found it. “Here we go. This is a story of your Uncle Gregory. You met him. He’s the one with the silver hair. Today, a body was found floating in the Thames…  
That established their daily reading of the paper. John spent most of it explaining to Hamish how his father had solved certain crimes. If they had anything noteworthy to report, John would text Greg. John found it strangely relaxing; Hamish found it interesting enough to pay attention.  
Shortly thereafter, John read the entirety of both his and Sherlock’s website’s to Hamish. Hamish was so entertained that John even showed the boy all of the pictures that Sherlock never uploaded to his website. They went through hundreds of shots of cigar ask, toe nails, mould, and slide shots of tissue samples.  
John got bored quick. But, Hamish was quite happily staring at each picture and occasionally commenting in baby talk as he pointed. As when John didn’t pay enough attention Hamish kicked and squirmed as he loudly demanded, “No! Da! Da! No!”  
“Why did you ever learn that word? John exhaled.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
His baby alarm went off particularly early that day. John didn’t even open his eyes as Hamish began pulling at John’s hair.  
“Settle down, boy. Sleep.”  
John managed to just about begin drifting off when someone began pulling on his nose. Two fingers went up his nose and John had to pull away.  
He picked the baby up and laid him down. “Beddy bye,” John insisted.   
John lay back down and closed his eyes.  
It didn’t take long before 17 and a half pounds of baby crawled onto his head and stretched out. John exhaled against the nappy in his face. Someone happily began slapping his face.   
“I’ll pay you to let me sleep and extra 20 minutes.”  
Hamish laughed and pulled John’s hair again as he kicked his cubby legs against John.   
A moment later, Hamish farted.  
“Okay, I’m up,” John said moving the baby away.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
The flat was a wreck. There were toys everywhere. John had fallen behind on the housework that week and then didn’t seem to be able to catch up. No matter how much he tried nothing ever really seemed to get done.  
They went shopping after work. John had only turned his back long enough to fetch a packet of biscuits off the shelf. But it was just long enough for Hamish to reach out for the display and to pull on one pivotal jar that was holding up all the rest. And as he turned back he saw the display of pasta sauce crash down in a big, red mess. Hamish laughed and then dropped the jar in his hand.  
On another day, John was folding laundry out of the basket. Hamish and John’s clothes were all mixed up. John had several drawers opened at once. When he was finally done, he turned and found that Hamish had pulled out all of the clean clothes that he could reach from the drawer. The laundry was now on the floor, most of which his boy was using as a carpet.  
On another day, there was an emergency trip to the hardware. John had been taking off his shoes. He turned and found Hamish at the top of the dresser.  
“No!” John screamed as he ran. He snatched the boy of the dresser a second later. John saw confusion and fear in his son’s face. A preamble to tears, so he made an air plane sound and began spinning Hamish around.   
“I love you,” John said, but your antics could very well kill me.”  
That’s when they dropped by the hardware for L-shaped brackets and screws to secure all the climbable furniture in the house.  
They stopped off for takeaway. John ordered an egg fried rice. Since Sherlock always ate the egg rolls, John offered half to Hamish. But Hamish wasn’t interested. He was only interested in pawing through the rice with his hands in search of peas, which he happily ate while sitting on daddy’s lap.  
John spent the rest of the night securing furniture to the walls while a length of rope tied from his waist to the straps of Hamish’s overalls ensured that the boy wouldn’t wander.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
Hamish liked to watch him cook. Sometimes he’d reach out desperately for a thing.   
John gave in when he had bread dough. He tore off a piece. Floured Hamish’s highchair and gave it to him.  
“Like this, Hamish,” John said kneading.  
Hamish slapped and threw the dough. He tasted it. And, he ripped it to pieces. But, he didn’t knead it.  
When John related the story to Mycroft, he smiled happily. “I know it’s difficult to tell based on Sherlock’s behavior but our family has a fine palette and a taste for fine cuisine. Cooking is a much cherished family passion. When he’s old enough we shall take him to a real restaurant so that he can experience haute cuisine. Food worth eating.”  
Mycroft absently twirled his umbrella.  
“Also,” Mycroft said poignantly. “You may wan to get into the habit of locking up your knives.”  
John looked at him. “You’re never comforting. You actually reside in this scary place that increases my personal stress levels.”  
“You aren’t the first person to ever say this kind of thing to me.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
John kept up Hamish’s baby book.  
First hair cut.   
Mycroft insisted on using his barber. Hamish couldn’t hold still. He made the entire process difficult. He even tried to bit the very patient barber. Loath as he was to cut those beautiful blonde curls, Hamish did look quite handsome afterward. Like an angel who reached out and spilt as many bottles off the display as he could before John snatched him away. He even managed to look at John with big wide eyes. Then came that little smile.   
“Yes,” Mycroft said nonchalantly. “Well, add that the bill. Come John,” the man said on his way out.  
John was still able to gather a lock of hair as a keepsake off the floor before he fled.  
First Curry.  
They went to a curry house. Hamish spat up. He turned and looked at incredulously at John and then threw a handful of food across the room.  
First rat.  
John stepped out of the bedroom so he could pee. He bothered to wash his hands. That was probably his biggest mistake. When he walked back to the bedroom, he found that his son had a rat by the tail. It looked right at John, screeched and struggled to make an escape.  
“Hamish!” John screamed.   
Somehow the rat got away.   
Hamish in turned reached out as he demanded, “Kitty!”  
John panicked and ran the baby to the clinic where he drew blood and immediately ran a full panel of tests for…everything.  
First real shoes.  
Hamish screamed like a banshee as the sneakers went on. It took him all of one minute to figure out how the Velcro worked. Hamish kept kicking them off. John kept putting them back on. Finally, he managed to throw one out of the cab that they were riding home in.  
First escape from solitary confinement.  
Hamish was put on a time out in his play pen, which he hated more than anything on earth. The time out was because of the dirt that Hamish kept digging out of the potted plant. Only this time he dug it out and put in John’s medical bag. Everything inside was ruined, or contaminated. John rescued what he could, the rest he took down stairs to bin.   
When he returned, Hamish was sitting on the couch holding up the newspaper as he babbled, “Story, dada!”  
First arson.  
Greg and he went to the pub one night; Mrs. Hudson had stayed over to watch Hamish. John thoughtlessly brought a matchbook back in his coat pocket.   
At least, that was John’s working theory.  
During one of his midnight escapes from bed, Hamish found fire making sticks. John woke up to the smell of smoke and his living room curtains on fire.  
Luckily, Mycroft had frightened him enough that there were strategically placed fire extinguishers in every room.  
Apparently, Hamish was delighted with the effects of white, puffy clouds made by the canisters. Because, Dada is funny and made it fun to play in the house.  
First act of fire extinguisher.   
Hamish was so taken with the fire extinguisher that a week later there was an incident. John walked in from the bedroom to find the living room covered in white and his child sitting at the epicenter. Hamish banged on the canister with his shoe twice before he managed to get more to puff out as he whooped, “Dada! Dada! Dada!”  
John grabbed his head and wandered into the kitchen. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and sat on the kitchen floor. He fell back against cabinet. He quickly decided that there wasn’t enough beer in the world.   
Hamish ran in still stained in fire retardant chemicals. John was climbed on. Finally, Hamish settled in his lap babbling nonsense..   
John began laughing as it dawned on him that he did manage to keep that last part of Sherlock alive.


	4. A SINLE PARENT’S WORK, NEVER DONE

John met a woman at his new civilian job. She was a nurse. She was his type. They had fun when they were able to talk in-between clients. She was smart. She was funny. She was every thing that he should want, except for one thing.  
First time that he introduced Hamish to her was a complete happenstance. He chose that job because the clinic was close to home. Good thing because Mrs. Hudson took ill, and John had to race home. They were in-between daycare’s. Mrs. Hudson stepped in so he could continue working uninterrupted.  
John let himself in and found her sitting in the kitchen.  
“I can see him napping from here,” she assured him in a deeply congested voice.  
John walked right over and have her a paper bag and a paper cup. “Tea the way you like it. And then there’s vitamin C and D. An expectorant, a pain killer, and cough swallows. The instructions are on the bottles. Do get some rest.”  
“You’re so thoughtful. And, I’m so sorry, dear.”  
“It’s fine. Just feel better.”  
John tucked Hamish into his pram. The baby bag had everything that he needed including personal hygiene necessities to distract the boy: the daily paper, Hamish’s tablet, and electronic activity center.   
John drove Hamish right into the heart of three cooing nurses. They loved him at first sight. Luckily, Hamish was in a relatively tolerant mood and allowed himself to be handled. He had a kitty cat fleece cap on and his pacifier was in. He almost look like any other pedestrian baby…almost.   
When Mary picked him up Hamish began kicking and screaming. He even slapped at her face and spat his pacifier at her.   
John rushed to take the hysterical child away. John was agog. He didn’t know either what to say or what to do. For all his personality quarks, he’d never seen Hamish react in such a way.  
And the more he thought of it, the less John liked it. She was still funny, smart, and nice. She was still everything he’d seen.  
But.  
Instead of asking her out on a proper date, as he’d intended, John stayed home.   
He spent his time packing for a day trip. Nothing complicated. It was simply warmer now. He could take Hamish now. Again, for the first time.  
It had been five and a half months since the weather turned and winter had started to set in. That’s when John had to stop gong to visit Sherlock’s grave with Hamish. And, once the little scamp had started setting fires and creating havoc, he was nervous about leaving him with anyone else unnecessarily. Even if Mrs. Hudson could tell just by looking if he had arson on the mind. It was still a big chance to take with their property values and insurance.  
The next day they headed out. Hamish sat in his pram well bundled against the still cold wind. John’s baby bag was loaded onto the pram along with a folding little stool. His back pack was filled with snacks, a blanket, and an emergency fire extinguisher…just in case.   
They took a cab to the wrought iron gates. From there John pushed the pram a block down and then 100 yards to the right. Sherlock lay inward. To reach him he had to carry Hamish. He pushed the pram over the uneven, patchy ground.   
Hamish was tugging on his hair when John spotted it. Black and shiny against the gray of the landscape. It stood so imposing, so final.  
John turned to Hamish. The attention stopped his squirming. He smiled showing several baby teeth under his fleece cap. The little fleece kitty ears on top of his cap flapped in the wind.  
“Daddy loves you. Do you know who else loves you? Your father.”  
“Bylin!” Hamish chirped happily.  
John stared at his son. He smiled at that deceptively innocent face. “Smart boy,” John cooed. “Our smart boy.”  
John walked the rest of the way saying, “He loved us enough to die so that we could live. I don’t know if he was able to imagine you. But, I do know that you are everything that he could have believed was possible.”  
When they arrived, John set Hamish down by the black stone. John dropped his burdens so that he could hold the boy still.   
“This is you Father’s monument. We’re going to come here every now and then. I’m going to look really sad here, but only because I love him so very much.”  
They were there for an hour during the warmest part of the day. John could have stayed there just staring at the stone for much longer. It felt infinite. A part of him expected something to happen, but nothing ever did.  
Hamish became fussy. He squirmed more than usual. And John knew that it was time to go.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
John left work and went straight to the daycare. It hadn’t been hard to make the decision once Mycroft offered to help with the cost. The daycare was part of a program for gifted children that Mycroft had been talking up.   
John was doing his best to be understanding but he was more interested in making sure that Hamish socialized properly with his peers. He really wanted to make it a little easier for his son than it had been for Sherlock. Or, Mycroft for that matter.   
But, paid for daycare with other children his age who could read and write before being able to walk was attractive. If nothing else John knew that Mycroft had security on the place, and his son was brilliantly entertained while there. And when he disclosed about Hamish’s pyromaniac tendencies they didn’t bat an eye. It was win-win.  
Initially, John hadn’t wanted to put his kid in such a strict environment that was attempting to create baby Einsteins. He hadn’t had a problem turning down Mycroft, politely, but firmly.   
Mycroft smiled back at John.   
That should have been the first big clue.  
Instead of arguing the matter, Mycroft had simply handed John a bag and said, “I apologize for missing your birthday. A small token. No need to walk me out. Good day, John.”   
The token turned out to be two different kinds of puzzles. He pulled out a jigsaw puzzle first. 1500 pieces worth of big, bright hot air balloons in mid-flight. There was also a jumbled Rubik cube.   
At first it just looked like a crappy gift. He left it sitting on the coffee table.  
John had to get dinner made.   
He popped one of Hamish’s DVD’s into the machine. Today he chose, the three little pigs and the ABC’s. Hamish’s toys were laid out and John left him to it.  
John set vegetables to boil so that he could make baby food for Hamish. Cooking and freezing when he could was best. If, he could carve out some time for himself around Hamish’s needs. Dinner would be sweet potato mash and sausages.  
The moment he could, John left the kitchen to check on his son.  
John got within six feet and went stock still. Shock was his first sensation. He made it to his chair and fell into it.  
Hamish was too busy to notice his da. He was focused completely on his task as he absently suckled on his pacifier. Wearing only his diaper, he moved around as quickly as his still chubby fingers and legs allowed. It was clear that his mind was moving far quicker than his little body could manage. The jigsaw puzzle under his hands was almost finished.  
John noticed the other gift on the coffee table, off to one side. John reached for the multi-colored cube. All six sides were complete. At his very best he’d always gotten stuck with that one odd cube that he could never maneuver into place.  
John calmly picked up his mobile and dialed Mycroft.  
“John, how nice to hear from you.”  
“You’re a prick. If your brother was a cock, then you’re a prick.”  
“I see you opened my gift and Hamish then enjoyed it.”  
“He shouldn’t be able to do this,” John said a bit lost.  
“Both Sherlock and I always exhibited advanced problem solving and pattern recognition skills…among other characteristics.”  
John bit his lip until it hurt. Finally, he said, “Fine. He can go to Einstein daycare.”  
“Please consider the school, John. There’s no reason why Hamish can’t skip a few grades and-  
“Don’t push it. He isn’t mature enough to interact with older kids. He has to learn to socialize with children his age first.”  
Dryly the man responded, “You can’t be serious?”  
“Social skills are important.”  
John could hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.  
“If you insist, John,” he said only with a bit of sarcasm coming through.   
“I do. Send me the daycare information. I’ll take him tomorrow so that we can register.”  
“No need. It’s all arranged. They shall be expecting you. Good night, John.”  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
John arrived at Hamish’s private and exclusive daycare to find his son receiving a piano lesson. Mycroft and he had already discussed matters. They settled on a private violin tutor. John felt it important, more so than the piano which Mycroft insisted on. Mycroft insisted on piano first to build up the strength in Hamish’s hands. He insisted that it was crucial, and so John had agreed.   
John was not musically inclined. But even he could tell that Hamish was doing well. He seemed to enjoy his piano lessons. He gave the little keys his utmost concentration. It was rather amazing to watch. John didn’t get tired of recording him on his phone. He simply wanted to remember it all, and preserve it for posterity.  
John waited quietly until the lesson was over. The moment that Hamish realized that there would be no more piano for today, he began crying. He even threw his pacifier. John had learnt that it was a sure sign of abject emotional self-destruction.  
“Hamish,” John called calmly.  
The baby turned to his daddy’s voice and ran to him crying, hands held out, saliva running down his face. John scooped him up and held him. He inhaled his baby scent.  
“I love you. I missed you today, so much.”  
“Dada. Pano. Nusic.”  
“I know. But we have to go home and you can practice what you learnt on the key board that uncle Mycroft bought you.”  
Thought the crying lessened, Hamish didn’t look convinced.  
Hamish hid his face in John’s shoulder.  
“Mr. Watson,” Hamish’s teacher called. She held up Hamish’s pacifier saying, “I rinsed it.”  
“Oh, yes. Thank you. I’m sorry about that. He’s still learning to deal with disappointment.”  
She smiled prettily, “I’m used to tantrums. Hamish is actually doing rather well for his age, even emotionally speaking.”  
“That’s good. His father could be a total drama queen at times. Please don’t let him get away with nonsense.”  
John instantly realized what he’d said as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  
“Father? I thought you were his father?”  
John grew upset at the question. “I don’t want to talk about this.”  
With that John turned and left with Hamish in his arms.  
And John didn’t stop running until he got home and could lock the door.  
Before he even put Hamish down, John pulled out Hamish’s practice keyboard. He rolled out the electric mat on the coffee table and plugged it in. He set his son down in front of it. Like a maestro the baby set his fingers down over the keys and began playing at the lowest sound setting.  
John let him practice as he sat in his chair and stared out mindlessly at the empty expanse of sofa.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
John took Hamish to the park.  
Hamish was a bit confused by it all. The other children seemed a mystery to Hamish. Though that was the point of their exercise. Ordinary children. Hamish seemed out of his element and utterly lost.   
It took some time but finally, he tried playing in the sand. He didn’t seem to mind it too much. He even ate some of it. But the rest of what was happening around him was beyond him. He did however observe the other children at play, which was a fine start.  
However, before they left John sat Hamish in a baby swing and pushed him for awhile. At first, Hamish didn’t seem to ‘get’ it. But then, he smiled around his pacifier.   
He knew that the boy would want to come back. As far as John was concerned, it was a big wind for normalcy, socialization skills, and simple human interaction.   
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
It was a Saturday.  
They started their day by walking to their favorite tea house. John had Hamish in his pram, but only because of the weather. The cold of early autumn was starting to set in. They were working on phasing out the pram but Hamish, much like his Father, liked being lazy. He seemed to enjoy laying back and enjoying the ride as he sucked on his pacifier. It seemed to be his current and most favorite thinking position.   
John ordered an herbal tea with lots of dairy free almond milk and a few biscuits. He added a bit of his tea to Hamish’s sippy cup. Hamish made a mess but he ate the biscuits that John gave him and he drank his warm vegan milk and tea.   
Meanwhile, John read the paper out loud. Greg was in it again.  
“Poor uncle Greg,” John said shaking his head. “These bank robbers are really giving him a run.”  
“Water gang,” Hamish said picking up his sippy cup.  
“Yes. Waters Gang, and they are very bad. You’re not supposed to take things that aren’t yours. Otherwise, you wind up in the time-out chair. No piano. No biscuits. No toys.”  
John finished reading the pertinent sections of the paper.  
When they left it was to go to the park.  
They didn’t stay long, only 30 minutes or so.  
John found a nice group of ladies who didn’t ask a bunch of questions and didn’t flirt with him. All were nannies, they didn’t mind him and Hamish showing up now and then. Even better, Hamish seemed to not out right hate the children that he got to play with. So they showed up.  
John sat for a while and watched Hamish.  
Hamish did his part. He dug furiously in the sand box. After, he ran around after two other boys. He even climbed up on the playset with the others and slid down the slide for the first time ever.  
John got so excited that he jumped up and cheered.  
When they left, John situated Hamish in his pram.   
Their next stop was the grocery. John pulled a trolley behind the pram. He did his shopping as Hamish lay back and watched a science MP3 about how plants grow. It was meant for children about six years old, but kept his attention.  
The daycare membership had its advantages. The daycare’s online library was huge and multi-age. As long as they could pick up a wi-fi signal, John could download all kinds of videos for Hamish to watch. If nothing else they kept him calm and focused on something of interest to him. That meant John could go about doing the mundane things that kept the world going round.  
Getting home was the usual struggle. He learnt the hard way that cloth shopping bags were best for all weather situations. John pushed the pram as he carried a full bag over each shoulder and a third was strategically placed strapped over the pram’s handle bars.   
Hamish was deep into a video about the history of the violin. John chose it with purpose. Hamish’s new violin tutor was supposed to start soon. Mycroft supposedly couldn’t give him an exact date yet, but he said that the teacher would be worth the wait.  
A part of John couldn’t wait for the violin classes to start. He hadn’t heard violin music in the flat in far too long, and a part of him longed for it again. Logically, he knew that it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing could ever be the same, but it wouldn’t be difficult to close his eyes and pretend.  
Once the groceries and the baby were inside, John closed the building door. It was custom now to always set all the locks just in case Hamish decided to make a break for it.  
He left the groceries with the pram and took Hamish upstairs.  
“Would you like something warm to drink when we get up?” John asked as he climbed the stairs with his son in his arms.  
“Yes. Sippy,” Hamish said absently as he continued to play with his tablet.  
“Do you want juice? Or, chocolate almond milk?”  
“Milk,” Hamish confirmed.  
“Fine. You finish watching your video and I’ll fetch you your sippy cup,” John said fishing in his pocket for his keys. “Later, you need a bath. We’ll put those new toys in the tub and see if they’re as fun as they looked at the store.”  
The key turned and they went inside.  
John stopped seven steps inside his threshold.  
He instantly could see that someone had been there. The first thing that he saw was that all of Sherlock’s lab equipment had found their way from storage in John’s old room back to the kitchen table.   
It only took a moment for John to notice that someone had moved Hamish’s blanket and had stretched out on the couch. The decorative pillows had been thrown aside.  
Sherlock’s violin which was forever enshrined in it’s case was no longer in it’s safe place high on the shelf, away from Hamish’s grasp. Instead, it was sitting on the small table next to Sherlock’s chair.  
John continued to stare haplessly.  
His head shook of it’s own volition.  
“Hello,” Hamish said to someone behind them.  
John was frozen to the spot. He felt tears in his eyes that were so heavy they blurred his vision. But, he felt little else.   
A dead sob escaped him.  
A long arm snaked around him securing Hamish. He felt a tall, warm body press against his back side. A moment later, that warmth spread as that body pressed even closer. Breath warmed his neck as a deep, baritone voice said, “Careful. He’s a good looking boy. You don’t want to drop him.”  
John started to cry.  
“No! Cry! No! No!” Hamish cried as he picked up his electronic tablet and swung it with all his baby might.  
“No, Hamish,” John chastised as he pulled the boy away. He pulled away as he put a hand on Hamish, pulling him close.  
He turned.  
For a moment nothing felt real. The man standing in front of him holding his eye. A bruise above his eye was swelling slightly.   
Sherlock wiped at his face. He took a few steps so that they were standing closer.  
“I had too,” he said.  
“I know,” John gasped.  
“There was an assassin.”  
“Two years?” John asked in utter confusion. “Why?”  
“I had to make sure Moriarty’s network went down. Or, we never would have been safe.” Sherlock looked right at the boy in John’s arms and smiled with more affection than John had ever seen. “He’s beautiful. He looks just like you.”  
“He’s you,” John gushed. “I survived your loss because he’s you.”  
Sherlock picked the electronic tablet off the floor. “He has a good arm.”  
“He’s protective. We should put some ice on that.”  
“I’d rather you tell me that you can forgive me. That we can move past this.” He looked away. “Mycroft told me that you’ve had a hard time of it…I…don’t…like that.”  
He stepped closer to Sherlock. “Is that you saying you’re sorry?”  
Sherlock looked up. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.  
John smiled a little. “I can wait.”  
Suddenly, Sherlock looked annoy. “You’re really going to make me say it?”  
“Yes,” John said easily. “I thought you were dead for two years. I should punch you in the nose. Or, you can give me one simple apology. Take your pick.”  
Sherlock looked put out, but finally she said, “Sorry.”  
“What? I’ve grown a bit hard of hearing. You’ll have to speak up.”  
Sherlock grew a bit dark but did repeat it a bit louder.  
John smiled a little. He turned to Hamish and said, “Hamish, in case you can’t tell. This is your father. This is uncle Mycroft’s brother.”  
“Bylin,” Hamish insisted happily.   
“Yes. He’s the one that play’s the violin for you. He can play when ever you want and he can even teach to how play.”  
Hamish looked at the tall, dark haired man with utmost curiosity and far less animosity.  
“What do you think, Hamish? Should we keep him? He can sleep next to Dada. Instead of playing videos of him playing while you eat we can just have him play for real. It’d be nice, huh?”  
Hamish picked up his pacifier at the end of it’s lanyard and put it in his mouth. He rested his head on John’s shoulder.  
“Well,” John said satisfied. “I think that settles it. I think we’re going to keep you.”  
Sherlock took two steps closer. He hesitated and then moved back.  
John stopped him. He took the step that closed the space between them. First, he rested his face directly on Sherlock’s chest, just above his pecks. The warmth that he found there made him want so much more. He breathed in inhaling the scent of the man.  
John turned his face to one side. He whispered, “I’ve missed you, you cock.”  
“Cock!” Hamish chirped.  
Both Sherlock and John perked up and turned to look at him. Baby teeth shone as a happily delighted boy stared back at them.  
“That was my fault,” John said seriously. “I forgot for a moment. He’s really, really smart.”  
“Of course, he is! He’s my son!” Sherlock said incredulously. A second later, he reached out to stroke Hamish’s too long curls. Still very blonde and baby soft. “Has Mycroft tried to indoctrinate him into one of his baby farms yet?”  
John just looked at Sherlock for a moment too long. Finally, he said, “We needed daycare. Unless you’re willing to watch him every moment while I’m at work there’s nothing to discuss. If he get’s bored, he sets fires, or sets off fire extinguishers.”  
“As usual I wish you wouldn’t work outside of our work. Honestly, John. Which do you think is more important?”  
“Putting food on the table and paying bills, Sherlock. It isn’t just us any more. He expects food when he’s hungry, diapers, a daily newspaper read to him, and heat.”  
Sherlock opened his mouth but then hesitated. He closed his mouth.   
“I don’t want to hurt you, but this isn’t a game. This is about as heavy a responsibility as it gets. I have to think about him first. You can’t get high or throw a tantrum if you want to be in his life.”  
“Well then,” Sherlock said as bit unsure. “I suppose you’ll have too update the blog so that we can start earning a paycheck again.”  
John placed the flat of his hand against Sherlock’s chest. “Are you sure?”  
“I’m ready to work, John.”  
“I’m in love with you.”  
They both went quiet.  
John met Sherlock’s eyes.  
It took a few long moments but Sherlock finally said, “Good. Then it’s appropriate to share a bed.”  
John smiled. “We already do.”  
John took the tablet out of Sherlock’s hands and said, “Bring up the groceries. You’re going to play for us and I need to make dinner.”  
John settled Hamish on the couch rather quickly. He removed both their coats and Hamish’s fleece cap. John logged into their wi-fi and then restarted Hamish’s video on the history of the violin.  
John had hung up their coats when Sherlock came up with the three cloth shopping bags.   
“I assume that enormous baby wheelbarrow resides on the ground floor since I saw no evidence to the contrary.”  
“He loves his wheelbarrow,” John said taking the bags from him. “He’s lazier than you when he’s in deep thought.”  
Sherlock sniffed haughtily, but didn’t challenge John’s observation.  
John made himself busy. He put the groceries away. He pulled one of the trays of chicken pot pie out of the freezer that he’d pre-made on Sunday. He let it on the counter while the oven pre-heated.  
John wandered into the living room to find Sherlock with Hamish. He was sitting on the coffee table holding his violin as he quizzed Hamish on the parts of the violin.  
John quickly went to the closet. Mycroft had brought a gift with him on his last visit. John has put it away for safe keeping. But, it was now time.  
“Holding it is very important. Look where my fingers are on the neck. Your left arm must be fluid and relaxed. You must always put your thumb in the same spot. It’s very important.”  
John arrived with the little violin case. He opened it and revealed the child sized violin to all. Hamish squealed around his pacifier and clapped happily. He eagerly reached out for it.  
“Mycroft?” Sherlock asked with a curl to his lip and a wrinkled nose as if he’d smelled a truly bad smell.  
“He’s been very good to us.”  
“And no doubt trying to create a mini-Mycroft.” Sherlock looked right at Hamish and assured him, “We won’t ever let that happen.”  
Hamish instantly took his new violin in hand. He tucked it under his chin and began to make hideous sounds on it.  
“I’ll leave you to it,” John said happily. “Just remember that he isn’t two yet. Gentle. Very gentle.”  
For the next fifteen minutes, John heard them playing together. Sherlock occasionally would give Hamish instructions on his stance, fingering, and general playing. Mostly, Sherlock showed Hamish by playing for him.   
It only took John a moment to realize that if he hadn’t already been in love with the man, it would have happened then and there.   
Dinner was warming, John had nothing better to do. He went to the couch and sat since the other furniture had been moved for the concerto.  
Sherlock put his violin down. As he walked over to John, he said, “Good. Hold your wrist straight. Watch your fingering.”  
Sherlock sat down next to John. “Me too,” he said.  
John looked at him questioning.  
“I love you too,” Sherlock clarified. “I thought you’d want to know.”  
John reached for the man and pulled him close. He meant to kiss Sherlock. But his lips landed against closed lips that didn’t do much of anything.  
John pulled away. “Was that too much?”  
For a moment, Sherlock looked speechless. Then he simply said, “No. I’ll do better next time.”  
“I just want to be with you Sherlock. I don’t care how.”  
Sherlock was going to respond when Hamish ran up, violin still in hand. His little violin hit Sherlock’s arm as he climbed into John’s lap. And then Hamish kissed John several times before he was hugged.  
“More kisses! I’m so lucky!” John declared.  
John stroked Hamish’s hair and held the boy closer. He smiled and enjoyed the simple pleasure of having those he loved close. Then, it happened. John felt Sherlock’s arm slide around his shoulder.  
John had to turn and look at him.  
Sherlock simply asked, “Is this wrong? Should I be using another gesture?”  
“No,” John gasped. After a moment John smiled.  
Sherlock quickly mirrored that smile.  
Hamish laughed and then yelped, “More bylin, cock!”  
“Father,” John corrected immediately. “Call him father.”  
Hamish sucked his finger and looked from one man to the other.   
Carefully, John explained, “I want you to call me daddy and him father.”  
Hamish answered with his finger still in his mouth and then he hid his face against John’s jumper.  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
_Hamish’s first crime scene.  
Today, Greg called us to a crime scene. It just so happened that Hamish was with us since we were out buying what Sherlock deemed appropriate strings for both Sherlock and Hamish’s violins.  
I arrived on site with great trepidation. With his usual empathic nature, Sherlock simply shrugged off my concerns saying that, “He was bound to join us on a case sooner or later. He might as well get used to the chase.”  
We were assured that there was no gore, no blood, or pieces. We entered a dark room to find a clothed skeleton sitting at a table with a manuscript opened up just in front of it. Written on it were the words, ‘How I did it’ by Jack the Ripper.  
Much to my immediate horror, Hamish was delighted and wanted to touch everything including the skeleton. It was a struggle to keep him still and in my arms.  
Sherlock, for his part, began clicking his magnifying glass open and closed depending on what he saw.  
As he walked around it, I was able to get a look at the skeleton…despite Hamish.   
Perhaps it was all those years in the classroom, but I didn’t hesitate to tell him, “It’s an articulated skeleton model. Wait. No. It’s human bone. Looks old.”  
Sherlock looked very annoyed with me because I had spoiled a part of his grand reveal.   
Still he was able to happily declare the scene a fake.  
Through out it I tired my best to protect Hamish. In the process I’ve discovered that trying to cover Hamish’s eyes with my hands only annoys him. He actually growled at me. Also, Hamish squirms like an eel when trying to get to interesting evidence. And lastly, when a two year old has to make potty at a crime scene there is no such thing as an off limits bathroom due to plumbing issues. Picking a lock so that the baby can pee in the sink is okay. _  
John read it over a second time. This time he smiled.  
He printed out a hard copy and trimmed the text to fit into Hamish’s baby book.  
“A part of me thinks we should tell the world about our family,” John said out loud.   
Sherlock was laying on the couch deep in thought. The baby was napping on his father’s chest, spread out limply and occupying an incredible amount of space without a care in the world.  
John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on him.  
“Don’t worry,” John said. “I’m not stupid. And I have no wish to endanger our boy. With a little luck maybe we can even keep him hidden from the press. God knows we have enough enemies and danger seeking habits between us to create lifelong problems for him.  
“He isn’t ordinary,” Sherlock replied. “Neither are we. We will manage. Our family will be fine. You’re worrying for nothing.”  
“I hope that you’re right.”  
“When am I not? Mycroft’s people monitor the baby farm.”  
“Daycare. Call it daycare.”  
“And when he’s home, he is with us.”  
“I’m more worried about some disgruntled lunatic that we put away coming to get even. Sherlock we’ve trampled all over a lot of bad people who had nefarious plans in mind.”  
“And they got what was coming.”  
“People have long memories and hold deep grudges. This is my point.”  
“John, if you are that worried there are only a few options. First, we move to more secure surroundings. Second, send Hamish away. Or third, give up the work.”  
“I know you’re not serious about two of those. Would you actually be willing to move?”  
Sherlock shrugged. “I like it here, but if we become concerned about his security and safety, then we must go else where.”  
John fell silent again, but this time he smiled a bit. “Thanks,” John said quietly. “Sometimes I can’t stop those worst-case scenarios from going through my head.”  
“Now that’s over. I require silence.”  
John smirked. “You’ll have all the silence in the world. Till he wakes up.”  
Sherlock lay back without a word and John went back to updating the baby book. That morning Hamish had put on Sherlock’s coat and tramped around the flat. John put the scarf on him and had taken pictures. He had video. It was precious damn it and he wanted to record every memory as completely as he possibly could. 

Fin.


End file.
